Blackbird
by wayward lover
Summary: Before Katherine, Damon easily fell in love shamelessly and recklessly. Before Katherine, there was another a woman. Eleanor Whitlock was his best friend, and as the story always seem to go, she was his first love, too. Much like the love story of Katherine Pierce and Damon Salvatore; Eleanor was presumed dead. But you should never assume something that hasn't been proven. Damon/OC
1. Prologue

**_Blackbird;_**

**Prologue**

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise._

* * *

It was early spring eighteen sixty-one; April seventh to be exact and Damon was leaving. He was going to be one of those Confederate Soldiers. I was far more than less than impressed; he was my best friend, who else would there be to cause mischief with in his absence? Stefan sure wouldn't, he was only good for a game of football. Which was a game was not supposed to play, though have, many times. I'd have to attend those petty parties with the women and spread gossip about fellow Mystic Falls women. That was not my scene and I only attended those events at the bare minimum my mother and society would allow.

Damon's father, Giuseppe Salvatore had invited my family and a few others to their estate to see his son farewell. I didn't think it had been Giuseppe's idea though, I sensed some persuasion from Stefan, Damon and Giuseppe were not too fond of each other and it may be sad to say; I doubted Damon's father was that bothered by his son leaving for the Civil War. But either way, I stood as my maid Lynette helped put on my pannier and tie my corset tightly. Lynette was a short, frail black women and she was my favourite maid. She always had a witty remark to voice after my mother added another order to her already mile long list of demands, and she was wonderful at giving advice. She was a swift dresser too, the other maids to take forever but Lynette was done quickly and efficiently.

This evenings dress was a crimson red colour, and it had an almost daring neckline. The sleeves hung from my shoulders and dipped into an obtuse 'V', which in the middle had a crème coloured jewel; the skirt was tight around my tiny looking waist, much thanks to the corset, then flowed out into an elegant manner. It was safe to say it was beautiful.

"Your mother picked this out earlier in the morning, Miss Whitlock," She smiles up at me. "You must be going somewhere special this evening, it's awfully fancy."

"Lynette, how many times must be discuss this. Please, call me Eleanor!" I laugh amused, and she stares back up at me warmly. "And no, I'm afraid not. I'm off to bid Damon a goodbye."

"That boy is certainly charming," Lynette chuckles softly, finishing off tying my dress. "He can put any women under a spell; almost had me tangled in his web! It's a wonder how you can put up so much tolerance to him."

"Believe me - even I have my difficulties every now and again."

The older woman stands up from her kneeling position and grins. "And I do not doubt that in the slightest, Miss Whitlock."

I open my mouth to correct again, but I notice my mother waltz into my bedroom, and Lynette quietly leaves behind her. She too is dressed elegantly enough for a ball. "Eleanor you look beautiful,"

"Thanks, mother." I reply almost monotonously, her and I don't really see eye to eye. "Why are we so dressed up for? I was just going to wear a day dress; it's just the Salvatore's and a couple other close acquaintances."

Genevieve Whitlock shakes her head. "No, the party is for all the Confederates that'll be leaving us tomorrow. We're no longer going to the Salvatore estate; it's being held at the Lockwood's by the mayor. He wants to see his citizens off," She sees my expression and must feel the need to elaborate. "The Salvatore's are set to attend."

"But Eleanor, dear," Her brow furrows as her face gets pulled down into a frown. "I do wish for you to associate yourself with other suitable men. You're nineteen I'm sure the majority of your friends have wed by now. You should too."

I nod, unwilling to argue. If I didn't choose a suitor soon, they'd arrange one for me. I couldn't fathom the idea of being married to someone I didn't love, for it all to be _arranged_. I also had nagging feelings for the eldest Salvatore, they kept lingering even after the many times I had tried to push them away. Damon was an amazing friend, loyal, honest, and trustworthy. But he was a horrible lover; he was the usual womanizer. Even if I wanted to wait for him to love me back, it would not be worth it. As my mother put it, my young pretty face would not last forever, and I needed to court someone before my looks faded. If I ended up being the only unmarried woman of the family, to her, I'd be an expletory disgrace.

"Now the carriage is waiting," My mother speaks up again. "We have to be going."

Then she walked out of the room, not once glancing back to see if I was actually following. She just knew you would. That's one thing I hated about: she was overconfident and self-assured. Her brain revolved around her class and what ball she was going to be attending next. Heaven forbid she befriends a person of a poor background or of a different race. But these were the times when being different was frowned upon; I was often frowned upon.

The two of us walked out into the yard where Mr. Donovan had the carriage parked. He was about fifty-odd, and he drove us everywhere. Mother really discarded him as a driver but I thought of him as more of the grandparent I never really had.

"Hello, Mr. Donovan," I beam at him. He smiles down at me, his skin wrinkling around the eyes. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"Good day, Miss Whitlock," He looks down at me, seemingly studying my attire. "You're all dolled up. I infer I'm bringing you to the Confederate Farewell party?"

"Your inference just so happens to be correct!" That's where the conversation ends, though, not by choice.

"Eleanor!" My mother calls, in a demanding tone from the interior of the carriage. I roll my eyes and the elderly man laughs.

"You better go inside, it's never wise to anger your mother."

"Oh, I know, Mr. Donovan," I mumble under my breath. "I know."

The whole ride to the Lockwood's mother rambled about the men she thought were suitable bachelors. But I had all but tuned her out. I do as she asked, I'd wander about and act flirtatiously with the men, though this night was primarily about Damon. The longest I'd been without that boy was a week, now I had no idea how long he'd be gone – and that was also that horrid possibility he wouldn't come back, _ever_. It pushed that to the very deep untouched part of my brain: He's _Damon Salvatore_, he wouldn't go out like that. He needed something more extravagant and uncommon than dying at battle.

"Eleanor, El." I was brought back to reality by her irritating voice. I knew you shouldn't degrade your mother but her tone sent chills down my spine until I physically cringed. It sounded so taunting and superior compared to my warm, soft murmur. I treated everyone equal, whereas she looked down onto all, we were complete opposites; I sometimes dread having to tell people who exactly I was related to. "Gosh, you're always so wrapped up in your daydreams. You can't be attentive to save your life. We've arrived."

And it turned out we actually had. We were stopped right in front of the staircase that led into the Lockwood's. The place was lit up with candles all around the yard; couples lingered around, some even swayed together to the soft sounds that traveled out from inside. Every time we arrived here I looked at the place in awe, it was gigantic and it always appeared so done up and wonderful.

Again I followed in my mother's suit as she led me towards the main commotion. If the outside was astonishing, the inside was perfect. It even had a spacious ballroom. In the sea of people, I'd lost sight of my mother, which I had been almost relieved by. I did not need her breathing down my neck all night about marriage.

A servant walked up to me and gestured the tray of champagne in my direction. I took it and just began to slowly sip as I analyzed the room for people of importance. Instead, a blonde haired man proceeded my way. He was unfamiliar, he could surely not be a native to the town of Mystic Falls, he was a newcomer. A very handsome newcomer. He was almost porcelain skinned and had enticing hazel eyes; I'm sure you could drown in them from a mile away. He wore a perfectly tailored black tail coat and trousers, his shoes seemed to be of expensive leather. What made the outfit stick out though was the crimson red bowtie, it just happened to be the same shade as the fabric of my dress.

"I'm Sebastian Steele, you are Miss Whitlock, I presume?"

"_Eleanor_ Whitlock," I correct for what seems the thousandth time today. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

I curtsey as I am supposed to and he smiles. "Well, Eleanor, may I just say you look breathtaking this fine evening."

I spot my mother in the crowd, just above his head, eavesdropping from now too far away. "Thank you, Mr. Steele. I must tell you, you look rather dapper yourself." I give him a sideways smirk and he chuckles.

"You're new around here." I state instead of ask; I already know the answer.

He nods his head, "I moved here in the last week. It's terribly small but it seems to have very beautiful women."

I know what he's referring to and I flirtatiously laugh, and my cheeks flush just in the slightest bit. "Well, Sebastian Steele, maybe you'll maybe to snag on for your own." I leave with a wink and saunter off in the direction I had spotted Damon in mere seconds ago.

I finally catch up to him as he stops at the table of refreshments. "Damon." I greet.

"Eleanor."

"You know it's rude to make a girl chase after you?" I fold my arms across my chest and his eyes light up with that familiar look of amusement.

"But, Elle - that is all the fun!" I swat at him in a way that is not polite and he laughs loudly, whereas the others surrounding us frown. After he calms down, he looks down at me, and gives me a look that says he approves. "You look ravishing tonight, Elle."

"Why aren't you just the gentleman?" Again I curtsy and this seems to humour him.

"I'm going to miss you." I tell him, my voice wavering. My lips curl into a small, sad smile and I watch as his face does the same. "Who will be my partner in mischief whilst you're gone?"

"Defiantly not Stefan," Damon responded with a knowing smirk. "He's much too mature for childish games – though, he's only seventeen. He doesn't realize he has his whole life to be responsible, now is the time of fun."

I look at him seriously now. "Promise me you won't die out there?"

He gives me an expression that easily reads '_You know I can't do that_' but I ignore it. "Please?" I plead with him. I need to know he's trying his hardest to stay alive.

"I promise," He whispers after a moment of silence. Damon turns and stares at him, our eyes locked, and I know he's being serious about this, just like I want.

"Very well," I try to change the mood to one of lightheartedness. "But if you do die out in the war, I will search and search until I find a way to resurrect you and then I will murder you again for being incompetent."

Damon scoffed but then grinned down at me, placing his chin on my forehead. I quickly pulled him into a tight hug – I didn't want to let him go out there. He was my best friend, I loved him – I couldn't let him go out there and be thrown into a dangerous battle with guns and many other weapons. He wasn't allowed to die. But this was above me. I played no part in the decision.

"Come with me." He mumbled into my hair. He grabs a hold of my wrist and softly tugs me along. But there is no need for that, as soon as he asked to be followed, I was going to agree. I trusted him one hundred percent. Damon led me past the crowds, and up the wooden spiral staircase, and into a room which was vacant except for a bed and a bureau. My guess was it was a room for guests because a room as bare as this, no one could live in it.

"I'm going to miss you," He whispers so softly, it's as if he's talking to himself. Though I'm confused, he had to bring me all the way up here to voice he was going to miss me? Surely it couldn't be that private.

"You'll be fighting a Civil War, Salvatore," I sit on the bed, and he paces around the room. "You won't have time to miss me. You'll have to be worrying about yourself."

His pacing abruptly stops, and he comes to sit down next to me. "Now that is true, not in the least. I'm going to miss you every day – your laugh, eyes, smile. And every day I'll be worrying about you, too. If you're well, if you're sick, if you're still unwed…" Damon's expression falters a bit. "Your welfare will be just as important as the events that are happening right in front of me on the battlefield."

The mood seems to intensify immediately. Nothing else is said and the only things heard is the muffled sounds from down the staircase and mine and Damon's ragged breaths muddling together. His face is mere inches away from my own and soon his lips hesitantly place themselves on my own. It's slow at first, almost unsure. But soon it is sure, and on instinct everything escalates. I soon feel myself being pushed back onto the bed and I can feel Damon's fingers ever so lightly undo the knots and bows that belong to my dress and corset. The morals of a Christian woman are to wait until after your marriage, it's almost a law. But his kisses and touches mess with my brain, and those thoughts don't even click in my mind. I'd never been as thoroughly religious as my peers and I was never one for rules; starting now didn't seem like an ideal option. The pannier soon slid off along with the rest of my clothing. Damon kissed down my jawline, down my neck, down my chest. The tiniest part of me willed the rest of me to stop, but that didn't even seem logical to my foggy brain or aroused body_. Damon was leaving tomorrow at the crack of dawn – there was that chance you will never see him again! _The smart part of my brained shrieked at me; but it seemed only to be a faint whisper. The rest of my body ached for him to be mine, even just for this short night. It was the devil and angel on my shoulder, this once, I chose the fiery heat of the devil.

I curled up next to his warm body after he took me and I felt no regret. I didn't even feel sinful. This wasn't something done amidst in pure lust. This couldn't be put to shame.

It started to sink in after that. Damon was leaving tomorrow; nothing was cloudy any more This couldn't amount to anything because I couldn't wait for him when there were no guarantees.

"I love you," I said quietly into his ear.

His body turned to face me, the ghost of a smile on his handsome face. "I love you too, Elle."

This is when a huge lump in my throat formed. I knew what I was going to say next, I knew what I had to say next and it wasn't going to be nice for either of us. "I can't wait for you though."

There's a pregnant pause before he replies with a very heartbreaking, "I know."

His fingers gently stroke my cheek and one simple tear runs down my cheek before I finally close my eyes and fall asleep, Damon's body entangled with mine, for the first and last time.

**This is a prologue for an idea I have. It's not going to be set in the 1860's for very long, and I don't know, the beginning of this story seems to be a bit confusing so I have to muddle that out. But is this worth continuing? Damon is my new fictional obsession of the week and my mind just keeps spurring with ideas. Feedback? :)**

**Sadly, I don't own The Vampire Diaries or Blackbird by The Beatles. I do however own anything that hasn't appeared in the books or series.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Night time is almost ours_

**_– 2009 – _**

It had been one hundred and forty eight years since I had been in Mystic Falls, but now, here I stood in the middle of the town square. Today was the day after the Founders Day Celebration and the place was still raided with decorations from the events.

The town so much different, but hauntingly the same. The leftovers of the floats and décor of the earlier events were almost paining to see – it looked just like the eighteen sixties. But there were also the things that were very different: the town was modernized. The houses were for the most part small and less extravagant, also there was not a horse and chariot in sight; just the various cars zooming by. I wasn't here for the memories and nostalgic feelings though; I was here because of a certain Katerina Petrova or better known as: Katherine Pierce. I'd been hunting that girl down since I had transitioned in 1862, I'd always been once step behind. Not now, though, my sources had told me Katherine was back in Mystic Fall and so I now was too. That woman had to die. She had ruined my life in an instant and never even looked back in remorse.

"Are you lost or something?" A teenage boy stands in front of me.

"No, I was just looking for a nice place to eat." I pause and give him a crooked smile. "Know anywhere good?"

_Other than yourself_, I joked to myself in my head. But it was true, the boy smelled like fresh pines and spices, a very tempting combination. He grins at me toothily. "Yeah, just right around the corner. It's call the Mystic Bar & Grill."

"Thanks," I say and give him a flirty smirk. I really loved the twenty first century; everybody was allowed to be so openly flirtatious and sensual. It wasn't like that when I was growing up, everything was hidden behind closed doors.

The Mystic Bar & Grill is just what it sounds like; a bar and grill. It's dimly lit, and has booths and tables scattered around the middle. On the opposite side there's a pool table, and a huge bar takes up most of the space. It seemed to be a hotspot for teenagers, at least at this time of day, the bar was almost rid of any customers while booths were mostly occupied. I, myself, made my way to the bar.

"Jack and Coke please." I tell the blonde bartender.

"ID?"

I almost laugh. Instead I stare at him intensely. "You won't be needing that."

"Oh, you're right." He chuckles sheepishly and begins to get the drink ready. "Sorry."

I grin and take a sip. "So, what's your name Mr. Bartender?"

He smiles up at me and the corners of his eyes crinkle in an all too familiar way. "Matt," He tells me. "Matt Donovan. And yours?"

No matter how spaced they were in the family tree, the resemblance between him and Wilfred was blatantly there once you made the connection. There smiles and eyes were exactly the same. "Elle Whitlock."

"Whitlock?" He questions me once he recognizes the name. "That's one of the founding families but I don't remember you at all."

"I lived here when I was young; my parents passed away and I was sent to live with my grandparents in Atlanta." I lie perfectly. "I've got an Aunt here but that's about it of the Whitlock's."

He nods. "Yeah, I think it's the only name on the registry that doesn't have a whole pack of people still here today."

"Yeah…" I feel the conversation dropping at a rapid pace. But I don't really need – or want to save it. I just want to find out what I need. "Um, can you tell me where Stefan Salvatore lives?"

Stefan was the only blast from my past I had actually ever run into. Detroit in 1967 I had coincidently banged into him at a local bar. It was playing a Rolling Stones song and I poured my whiskey all over his black leather jacket. Since then, we'd checked in on each other every once and again. The last I heard he was back in this dreadful town, too. I had a feeling if Katherine was here, he'd have some information for me.

Matt explained exactly how to get to the Salvatore Boarding house and I quickly finished up my glass and got out of there, following his directions as told. I didn't really know what to expect arriving at the boarding house, but I didn't think I'd see this. It was actually pretty charming looking; nothing dark or Vampiric about it. Not that I was expecting the castle of darkness because obviously, I wasn't. It's just the place reminded me of a house your grandmother would own, not a place where Stefan Salvatore resided.

The next dilemma came as I walked up to the doorstep; to knock or make an entrance. If I was barging in on someone I wasn't all too familiar with, just going in and going for the reaction of surprise would be my choice. But when these people used to be like family, I wasn't sure exactly what the protocol was. I didn't have re-ins like this much. Knocking seemed too formal, I decided to just fling about the door and waltz in. Thankfully, there were no human residents and the barrier was not put up.

"Stefan!" I call walking down the hallway. "_Stef!_"

My reply is soft footsteps padding down onto the wooden floor behind me. "Elena, god, can't you be quiet? Your yelling creates this horrible ringing in my ears."

Everything happening around me seemed to stop as I processed his distinct voice. I hadn't heard it in almost a century and a half. I had half a mind to turn around and the other told me to just stay where I was. Turning around seemed like such a hard thing to do, I didn't even know how to face him after so long. But I forced myself to do it, I spun on my heel and came face to face with Damon Salvatore.

"Elena?" I quirked up my left brow. "Who's that?"

Damon's face turns to shock; but only for a mere second until it conforms back into an indifferent expression. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Hmm…no, actually, I really don't care." I don't know where all this confidence is coming from, but it's quite obviously fake. "So how long has it been Damon? I think a century and a half sounds about right?"

"This is impossible," He mutters, staring at me. As if he expects me to suddenly dissipate into nothing. "You're dead."

I shake my head. "No, I think the correct term in _undead_."

Damon watches me in disbelief. "You're not Eleanor," he tells me. "You can't be. If you were her, you would've visited be before now. Elle wouldn't just leave me."

"Isn't that what you thought about Katherine?" I counter and his eyes are suddenly angry. "That's what I thought, buddy boy."

That's all it took for me to be pushed into the wooden wall. The wood seemed to shatter under my weight and the pressure he was providing. But in the rush of adrenaline I didn't feel the pain I should've.

"Damon," It was hard to talk, a strong arm pressed itself against my throat. I didn't let myself falter, I should have been afraid, but fear didn't come. "I see you still let your emotions get the best of you."

"I still see…" He stops and pretends to think about the answer, "No, I still don't see anything. You're a bitch."

"It's been 148 years, did you expect me to be the same?"

"No," He chuckles humourlessly. "I expected you to be turned into soil; six feet under."

"Harsh."

"I've never been one for sensitivity." He smirks and my lips curl because it's true. But my smile only lasts a second, before I'm scowling once again. He's not supposed to make me smile anymore; he loved Katherine, the woman who ruined my life. He was unknowingly a traitor but I still held it strongly against him. That woman was nothing but cruel mind games and wicked tricks, how he fell for such a person was unknown and over the years, I had grown to hate him for it. Albeit, that wasn't he something knew, he thought I was dead – but it was still something I was going to express now.

"Can you let go of me now?" I ask realizing his strong arm is still crushing my throat. He slowly releases me and backs away, but not by much. He still stands near me; towering over my inferior frame, and almost sneering. I ignore his dangerous expression. "But I have to admit, that was pretty hot."

Damon's signature smirk hadn't changed at all since 1861. It was still just as arrogant and cocky. "Eleanor, I appreciate your good taste – but it's been a century and a half, you _need_ to stop pining over me." His voice is laced with faux-comfort and I want to point out the irony of it: he had pined over Katherine for almost a century and a half. But tired of the bitter start to the reunion I just laugh.

"Okay, Damon," I glance around the parlour for any sign of Stefan's presence. "Is Stefan here? I was told he was."

He shrugs. "He's around this place somewhere. Should I expect an overemotional tear-filled greeting alongside a warm overdue hug?"

I shake my head and slowly walk over to the couch and plop down. "Nah, Stefan knows I'm immortal; has since '67."

There's a split second of shown emotion in his blue eyes before they turn to ice once again. "Sixty-seven?" He looks at me sceptically. "The nineteenth or twentieth century?"

"I still can't get used to questions like that," I chuckle. "The twentieth century."

His previous pacing stops and he stares at me intensely. "So, Stef knew you were alive for forty-two years and you knew _I_ was alive for the same amount – and you never even bothered to drop in for 'Hey, best friend, how's it goin' the past… I don't a hundred years?'"

I look to the ground. "I couldn't."

He looks at me with disbelief and makes a scoffing noise, "You _couldn't_? And can I ask why?"

"I didn't want to."

Lie. I wanted to, it was Damon. But I couldn't bring myself to come see him. Stefan was hard enough to deal with, Damon would just bring more of my past back. I couldn't have that. I could hardly believe I had actually come to Mystic Falls, but Katherine needed to _die_. I was supposed to live a normal Victorian era life. Get married to a wealthy suitor, carry my husband's name respectively and raise a large family. _This_ was her fault. Everything traced back to her. But God, why did she have to come here.

Hurt flashed across his face before he was full on glaring. "You didn't _want_ to?"

Faking nonchalance, I shrugged. "I didn't care enough to track you down."

"You're lying," He says lowly; almost in a growl.

"No-" I began to lie again, but the front door swung open.

"Dam-" Stefan's voice rung through my ears. "Elle?"

I turned on my heel, forcing a smile onto my face. "Stefan!"

There was a huff behind me and I felt Damon's presence evaporate. A part of me wanted to go back and restart our meeting; be nicer and more honest. But that wasn't me anymore. I was a monster. Or at least faking one.

**UNEDITED. I just wanted to update because you guys are so lovely! This story may be hard to follow, so quick reminder: always read the top, it'll state the date/year which will bounce back and forth A LOT. **


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Night time is almost ours_

**_– 1861 –_**

* * *

A month. It had been exactly a month since Damon had left. It had been thirty days without him; I had kept myself busy enough not to miss him all too much but now, stuck in the middle of another ball I needed him more than ever. I saw my other, more distant friends, waltz and twirl around the main floor with their lovers. I ached for something like that. But it seemed as if I was always a lone.

"Miss Eleanor."

It was a masculine voice so with the right amount of sensuality and modesty, she turned around a smiled his way. Just like her mother told her to.

It was that handsome man from the farewell party Sebastian. "Mr. Steele," I curtsied, "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"I couldn't just leave such a beautiful women all by her lonesome, could I?" He asked with a smirk, but it wasn't posed as a question. He held out his hand, "Care to dance?"

"I'd love to,"

Our arms linked and we spun to the music as the orchestra played my favourite tune. I smiled at the man and front of me and he grinned back.

"You're a wonderful dancer." He whispers in my ear.

I bit my lip, "You're fairly well on your feet too, Sebastian."

For the rest of the night I'm not once bored. I spend it all on the dance floor, in Sebastian's arms. I barely knew him – but he seemed to know _exactly_ how to make me happy. He was humorous and it was good-looking, and I knew my mother approved by that content look in her eye as we danced past her. She was never too fond of Damon, and she had guessed of my lover for him. This, moving on, would make her happy.

I was surprised, when I made my way back to the carriage, Damon finally crossed my mind for the first time in three hours. I thought the image of him would nag at me the entire time, ruining my night, but he had hardly even been thought of.

Mr. Donovon smiled at me as I climbed into the carriage. I hopped in and slid the shoes of my aching feet. Seconds later my mother came in and sat down, the ghost of a smile on her face.

"Who was that handsome man you spent the entire night with?" She asked, just like I knew she would.

"Sebastian Steele, he's new."

Finally, a smile appears on her face. "New," She says slowly. "Yes, I think new is _exactly_ what you need."

She's inferring to Damon, it was painfully obvious, but I couldn't care enough to mind. I told Damon I would not wait for him; he wouldn't come back looking for me to wed. And Sebastian did make me feel good; he made me feel new, myself.

Sebastian's beautiful hazel eyes flashed in my mind, "Mother, you may just be right."

**XXX**

**_ – 1863 –_**

I roamed around the garden, hiking my dress up carefully. Sebastian walked slowly just behind me. He was being awfully quiet this afternoon, a change from his charming cheeky self.

We reached the rose bushes mother had just had the Gardner, Ethel put in. They were a beautiful, crimson shade of red. Like blood. Blood always reminded me of Sebastian now, after he had shared his secret around this time a year ago. He was a vampire. It was shocking and surprising and I couldn't tell anyone, but I had come to terms with it. I loved this man and _nothing_ could change that. From his sandy blonde hair to his hazel eyes; he was intoxicating.

In the middle of the bushes was a white, wiry bench. Tired of walking I sat, and Sebastian followed in suit.

"You know I love you, correct?" Sebastian says out of the blue. I smile widely.

"Of course, and I love you." I tell him truthfully. I've never felt this way before – what I had with Damon had been close but this was something entirely different.

"I've received your fathers word, so if you accept, it is already allowed," My heart starts to beat faster, miles a second. I'm sure he can hear it, but I'm predicting what's about to come next and it makes me anxious – and _excited_.

"Eleanor Whitlock," Sebastian gets off the bench and onto on knee. Clasped in his hand is a tiny, velvet green box. "Will you marry me?"

_Damon. Damon. Damon_. My mind flashed with his name over and over for the first time in what seemed forever. He'd be coming home soon, wouldn't he? What would his reaction to this be? Would it bother him some? No, he'd be expecting this.

With my heart fluttering my chest, I managed a grin, "Yes!"

The ring slides onto my finger. It's cold and it fits perfectly. I don't even really think much about my decision – what will happen when I age and he doesn't, how I will cope being married to a man who will always be twenty three – I just trust my instincts and say yes. Damon forgotten once again.

Sebastian stands, and excitedly twirls me around before pulling me close, and hard. He captures my lips in his for a passionate kiss. The first one we share as fiancée's. My stomach leaps. _Fiancées_. I'm getting married.

I now realize why my mother was pressuring me into this; spending the rest of your life with someone you love and care for. Tacting their last name onto the end of your first. It was an overwhelming feeling of excitement.

He grabs my hand and pulls me lightly into the direction of the exit of the garden. "Come, I must go and tell everyone!"

I laugh and run along with him, forgetting to hike up my dress, and not once worrying what damage it may cause. I loved him and I was getting_ married!_

Something nagged at me though and I couldn't place it exactly. It felt so right – but something was telling me I had my signals all wrong. It wasn't just that in a few months short Damon would be arriving home, it was something different. It was as if my conscious was warning me something horrible was going to happen. But that couldn't be right – everything seemed so perfect.

* * *

Oh my gosh, it's been forever! I'm actually so sorry, but schools a bitch and inspiration has been running low. And then I just leave you guys with _this_ after the long wait. It doesn't even have Damon in it! But its needed haha. I'm horribleee.

Review? :)


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